


i wanna be your left-hand man

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (just btw they don't actually have sex), Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, From Sex to Love, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, they’re at a party.</p><hr/><p>Five times Niall and Zayn get off together: three casual, one confusing, and one... different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna be your left-hand man

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my betas--[24horan](http://24horan.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/)\--are to thank for making this fic actually make sense.

The first time it happens, they’re at a party. 

It’s so stupid. _Niall_ feels stupid, chalking it up to the couple of beers he’d had (and guiltily pushing aside the half-hour he’d spent hotboxed in with the others). Zayn suggests a lie-down in the bedroom, _the_ bedroom, the one that’s always reserved for them at Harry’s house because they’re his best friends, and Niall nods and follows, hand-in-hand. 

Niall doesn’t even get hard when they kiss; his cock doesn’t realise what’s happening until Zayn’s mouth is on it, and then Niall moans like a bitch in heat. As far as Niall knows, Zayn’s never sucked dick before, but he takes to it like a fucking _dream_ , tongue and lips getting all the good spots while Niall lets anyone in earshot know just how amazing it is. Afterwards, Zayn spits his come into a tissue and jerks off over Niall’s face. 

When he’s done, they clean up and fall asleep. 

And that’s that. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The second time, Niall’s remembering the first as he watches Zayn play kickaround. He passes the ball the Louis, who—with his inability to be anything less than a showoff when he has a football within a three foot radius—hits it from knee to foot, and crosses one leg under the other to flick it Liam’s way. There’s a party on Saturday. Niall’s thinking about that time with Zayn, just like he does every time it’s mentioned that they’re all going to a party, and Zayn catches him staring. 

Niall mulls this over while he dicks about with the ball, nothing too flashy, just enough to show Harry up a little. He wants what happened at that party to happen again, maybe? If Zayn wants it? 

If Zayn wants _Niall_? 

The two of them go back to Niall’s at about five in the evening; Zayn’s so painfully shy when they get to his room, but Niall’s laughter loosens him up. As they’re lying on his bed with Zayn on his Nintendo and Niall checking Facebook on his phone, Zayn slips his hand onto Niall’s thigh, eyes hopeful. Niall puts down his phone. He turns just slightly, for a better angle, and sinks into the lovely, warm press of Zayn’s lips against his. 

They snog and rut until Niall’s cock is leaking too much, warm precome bleeding through his boxer briefs where his cockhead’s trapped under the waist of his jeans. Zayn’s got a boner, too, and it’s a stiff press against Niall’s hip until Zayn unfastens his flies and Niall gets their dicks out. He wraps one hand around both, tips poking out of his fist. 

It feels good like this, feels naughty and slutty and all the other things that Niall’s not, not really. He doesn’t usually give his mates hand jobs. It’s just that Zayn’s so, so pretty, especially when he’s strewn out like right now, letting out half a moan here and there and swallowing the rest. The shy whimper Zayn gives as he starts to come is enough to get Niall toeing the edge of an orgasm, and all he needs to convince himself that this _has_ to happen again. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

They don’t even kiss on the third. They’re in Louis’ garden, on the swings. Liam took Harry and Louis to McDonald’s—the only place that could conceivably be open at this hour—leaving Zayn and Niall to their own devices. About two minutes into a conversation about a girl at school who’d cheated on her boyfriend the other week, Zayn gets up and crouches between Niall’s legs. Niall can’t see much of anything, so he figures that should anyone in the house still be awake, neither can they. 

“D’you think we could get off before the others get back?” Zayn whispers, even though there’s nobody around to hear. 

“Definitely,” Niall says. He’s already getting his fly open, splitting the denim of his jeans to expose his stupid _Duff Beer_ boxer shorts. Zayn takes Niall’s cock out through the slit and into his mouth before he’s even properly hard, and through his hooded eyes Niall can see Zayn’s arm moving, but— but better still, he can _feel_ Zayn smothering his noises around Niall’s shaft. 

Zayn giving head is a thing of beauty; he licks at the tip and sucks gently, sinking closer and closer to Niall’s lap and pulling off to use his hand. He closes his eyes when he’s keeping his bobs shallow around the base, but when he leans up his gaze goes to Niall, long eyelashes framing his thick pupils rimmed gold. 

Niall’s panting gets heavier as the raw pleasure gets stronger, toes curling in his trainers and hand going to Zayn’s hair. 

“Don’t,” Zayn whispers, voice caught. “They’ll know, if it’s messed up.” 

Nodding—he could do anything, _would_ do anything for Zayn right now, anything he asked—Niall slips his fingers to the back of Zayn’s neck, keeping them light so he has something to feel but not enough to obstruct Zayn’s movement. Not being able to make a sound is a far cry from what Niall’s used to, but he realises quickly that the quiet makes way for Zayn humming as he pushing down, Zayn grunting as he jerks off, the wet sucks on Niall’s cock. 

“G’nna… in a minute,” Niall chokes. He bites the side of the hand he has wrapped around the swing’s chain, the thrill of being outside and the fact that Zayn wanted this so fucking _badly_ burning his throat in a tight moan. His knees tighten under Zayn’s armpits, hips jerking clumsily into Zayn’s fist and making his swing sway awkwardly. Despite the rocky finish, he still gets a glimpse of his own come puddled on Zayn’s tongue before he closes his eyes and hears Zayn spit into Louis’ lawn. “I could…” he starts hazily. 

Zayn messes about with his trousers for a second, pushing them past his bum as he stays knelt in the grass and jerks himself off. When he starts to get close, he pushes his head into Niall’s lap, trapping noises against Niall’s inner thigh and holding his hipbone so hard that it hurts. Zayn’s body lurches unsteadily and then he sighs, losing his load between Niall’s feet and gasping into the denim. 

When Zayn lifts his face, the lights of a car are winding down the road. 

“Pro’lly Liam,” he mumbles, getting to his feet and tugging his jeans up. “Do I look alright, like?” 

“Bit of jizz on your bottom lip,” Niall says quietly, tapping his own lip. Zayn’s tongue sweeps out and catches it, swallows. “Got it.” 

As Zayn drops onto the other swing, Niall rocks his back, seeing the grass webbed with come, and smears it with his foot to make it less obvious. 

That night, he decides that maybe some part of him fancies Zayn, but not enough to risk what they have. 

Niall keeps that part quiet. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The fourth changes everything. 

They’re at some lame thing, a hardcore-Catholic girl’s birthday party. No alcohol, no snogging, no dancing too closely, and no gay stuff. Niall thinks dryly that what he’s been doing with Zayn could easily get smudged into that category, but dusts the thought away with a cup of orange juice. 

“Niall, could you please hand some crisps around?” Beth’s mum asks. She told Niall her name when they shook hands at the door, but he’s bored and his brain has turned to ash, so fuck if he remembers what it is. 

“Of course,” he smiles. 

Crowd thinned out (word went around that there’s a sick party at Josh’s, so only Beth’s friends and those not friends with Josh are still here) all Niall can see are the kids who are tight with the church, volunteers at the Sallies and that. He makes his rounds as Official Crisp Carrier, and spots Zayn on the sofa, fighting off the ferociously slavering dog. He’s clearly ready to blow his brains out, pushing the dog’s snout away only to get licked with its big, sloppy tongue. 

In the end, Niall’s eaten most of the bowl. He’s coming up to a pretty blonde girl, though, so he’s optimistic. This could turn out well. 

Then she rejects the food, and Niall can never consider someone who _rejects food_. 

He catches Zayn’s eye and tips his head towards the door, flicking his wrist. Zayn glances over and happily ushers the dog off of his lap, striding after Niall with a cool sort of eagerness. 

“What’s up?” Zayn asks softly. 

“This is shit,” Niall whispers. “Let’s leave.” 

Zayn frowns in agreement, slumping like the weight of pretending is too much for his frail shoulders. “Beth’ll know that we’re gone, like. We’re the only lads left. There’s nobody here anymore.” 

“There’s a fucking reason,” Niall hisses, and takes Zayn’s waist into his arm and tugging him to the door. 

“Yeah, definitely, but…” Zayn slips out of Niall’s grip. Niall liked him there, the press of his body and the heat of his skin. “It’s over at nine, inn’it? We’ll leave then, yeah?” 

“Ugh, you big bloody sod,” Niall groans, smacking Zayn’s arm. “Alright, but _then_ we leave.” 

And the “party” (does it count if half the guests want to use the fairy lights as nooses? Niall thinks not) goes exactly how it had been the whole evening; people cling to their little groups as five records’ worth of classical music flitters through the house, the food (organic and vegetarian) is barely touched, and Beth’s parents start dancing in the middle of the living room. 

“We going to Josh’s?” Zayn asks as they’re huddled outside, making their way down Beth’s driveway. 

“We could. Greg’s there, though, and my parents are away, so we could have beers at mine,” Niall offers, suggestion hopefully hinting towards a night of mutually-rewarding jerk off session. 

“Sounds good,” Zayn grunts. “Leh’me text my mum and let her know where I am. Alright if I stay for the night?” 

Niall hopes he will, wants to finish off and fall asleep with Zayn snuggled up at his side, get as much of his and Zayn’s kit off as he can – this is so fucked up, but he wants _all_ of Zayn, like they’re a couple and not just two lonely teenage boys who can’t keep their hands off each other’s dicks. 

He doesn’t know which would be less complicated. 

In the living room, Niall watches Zayn drink his beer, sees his thin lips pursing at the taste. A wine man to the core, Zayn has always been vocal about not understanding his friends’ fascination with getting pissed on Guinness and the like, just shaking his pretty head and squinting his brows in disgust. Now he’s seemingly lowered his standards, because he’s nearly at the bottom of the bottle. Niall finished his a while ago, but holding the bottle feels good, grounding. 

Smirk hitching his lips (Niall needs to control himself, but just looking at them making his cock thicken slightly) Zayn pats the space beside him, an invitation. Curious, Niall picks himself up and drops his arse into the cushion. 

“You alright?” Zayn says. 

A touch of honestly feathering his voice, Niall says, “Bit horny.” 

“Mm,” Zayn agrees. 

The kissing is slow, gentle presses of Zayn’s tongue meeting Niall’s between their open mouths, working up to something rougher, something harder. Niall’s jaw is held gently in Zayn’s hands as the snogging starts to tip into passion, and this – this is new. There’s something different. They were drunk the first time but that’s not what this is, not how Niall feels when Zayn’s breath comes out shakily against Niall’s bottom lip. 

Settling Niall onto his back, Zayn takes his hands off of Niall’s face to push into the settee instead, hips rocking between Niall’s thighs lightly to start, then with more of his weight against Niall’s crotch. He’s hard. Niall’s learnt what it feels like – a ridge along the zip of Zayn’s fly that feels ridiculously stiff considering it’s just a dick. Zayn presses in tightly against Niall and holds there for a second, collecting himself. 

“God,” he sighs, sucking in another breath. Niall’s never seen Zayn like this before, either – everything feels intimate, alien, like they haven’t even gotten each other off before. 

“Yeah,” Niall breathes. He’s about to go for Zayn’s dick but Zayn lies on him again and starts rutting, breathing damply into the curve of Niall’s neck. Like this, he’s got Niall’s dick caught between his balls and Zayn’s body. “Christ, _fuck_.” 

“I’m gonna come, is that okay?” Zayn whispers. 

“Of course, Zayn,” Niall nods, thinking that they’ve got plenty of time to get other stuff done, and Zayn wouldn’t say if he wasn’t close, if he wasn’t actually prepared to cream his trousers in just a second. 

Zayn humps him a bit frantically for a little while and then grinds in, holds his hips still as he shudders. Niall thinks he can maybe feel the come through both their trousers, but he could be imagining the heat. 

“Jesus. Sorry,” Zayn mumbles sheepishly. His eyelashes fall lazily over his eyes even as he pulls away, Niall searching pointedly for a wet spot, only to be disappointed when Zayn’s jeans appear dry, if not still tented. 

“It’s alright.” Niall’s well turned on, not putting it past himself to rut off on Zayn’s leg. His inner thighs ache from the rubbing. 

“It’s… wet. Ugh,” Zayn scowls. “Don’t know why I thought this’d be a good idea, like.” 

“Caught up in the moment?” Niall guesses. 

“Yeah, that.” 

Niall pulls the button through its slit and pushes his jeans to mid-thigh, squeezing his cock in his fist, Zayn wriggling down with a nice stream of kisses down Niall’s sternum and bellybutton. There’s not enough room on the sofa for Zayn to get between his legs, Niall realises in frustration. He likes lying down while he gets off. 

Zayn settles with his shoulders inside Niall’s knees, like the swings again. It’s a bit clichéd if Niall’s being honest with himself, jeans around his ankles as Zayn sucks him off, but mostly he’s too out of it to care. 

And they’ve done this before, it’s not a first, but it _feels_ like one. Christ, he’s having a hard time trying to figure out what’s actually _familiar_ , other than how safe he feels and how much he trusts Zayn. He feels soppy and fond and way too many other things, coming into Zayn’s mouth with a relieved sigh. 

Zayn swallows. 

“God, you’re good at that,” Niall comments. 

“Should be, after a few goes,” Zayn teases, eyes soft. 

Niall agrees with a low hum, closing his eyes to make the fog clear. “Let’s go to bed, mm?” 

Footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, they make their way up, and Niall turns to see Zayn looking a bit uncomfortable. 

“It’s your own spunk,” Niall cackles. “You’re the one who put it there.” 

“Yeah, but, like…” Zayn tugs quickly on the crotch of his trousers. “Still gross. And it’s cold now, and I think it’s a bit, like, caught in my pubes.” 

Niall’s still laughing as he falls onto his bed, Zayn taking his wrists and holding them down, slipping his hands up so that their fingers push between each other’s. 

This is so weird. 

Niall feels an intense swell in his chest, like his heart’s taking up too much room, like it’s going to pop, like it’s puffing up with every deep breath he pulls in. He’s never been very good with biology, but he’s pretty sure that that can’t literally happen, and yet a good rub from Zayn’s hand makes his heartbeat turn static. 

“We going again?” he asks. 

“Think we can,” Zayn replies, letting his hips down again. Niall can feel his cockhead nudging against his belt, a thick press that makes him remember how Zayn’d felt when he came, muscles rigid and tight. “Can you do that thing, like the other time? Both of us?” 

“Okay,” Niall agrees, carelessly threading his belt out of its loops and to the floor, taking the hint of Zayn’s fingers up his shirt that he wants that gone, too. Zayn pulls the rumpled cover from the edge of Niall’s bed over them. 

“Can we take these off?” Zayn asks, straightening with the duvet still pitched on the frame of his shoulders. He’s gesturing to their trousers. 

It’s the most naked they’ve ever been, and Zayn takes his time with undressing Niall, pressing his lips and tongue down his stomach where he’s weirdly sensitive. Zayn’s trousers are pushed under the duvet somewhere, Niall’s about to join them, and then they could well be naked. Niall’s brain is swimming. 

Niall stops thinking as he starts stroking them both, working them over sometimes long and slow, sometimes fast at the tips, their dicks rubbing every time his fist slides. Zayn’s keeping his distance, held up by his straightened arms and the thin, prominent muscles that become so defined when they tense up randomly. Niall gets up on his elbow for a breathy, weak kiss, but it does its job, inviting Zayn closer so it’s warmer and more intimate. 

With Zayn’s hips jerking and Niall getting just the _perfect_ pressure between them (and that they’d both already come just minutes ago), it’s no surprise when Zayn shoots off a small puddle onto Niall’s stomach. Ever a gentleman, he edges back and down, licking and sucking on Niall’s neck while his hand twists nearly too quickly on the tip. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Niall sighs as he comes, bringing his (clean) hand to his hair. 

They wipe the jizz off their fingers, but don’t bother putting their clothes back on, and Zayn starts to nod off happily with his cheek on Niall’s chest. Niall stares at the ceiling. He’s lost his breath—more accurately, Zayn’s stolen it away, not just with getting them off but with the gentle fist bump he tapped against Niall’s knee afterwards, and the “You okay?” lift of his brows—and doesn’t get it back fast enough to ask what all of this means. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Just before they’re about to make this five times, Niall puts a hand of Zayn’s chest. Zayn always starts this. He always instigates. Niall wonders why. 

“Not in the mood?” Zayn asks, rolling from half-on-top to Niall’s side. 

“Just wanted to talk,” Niall shrugs. 

With a few seconds drawing blank, Zayn asks if it’s about kissing a bloke. Niall says no. It’s not, not at all, he doesn’t care – Niall _likes_ it. Looking at a guy’s body and thinking _I could_ is so different when he’s actually doing it, because then it goes from _I could_ to _I am_ to _oh, god, please don’t stop_ , and he fucking _loves_ it. 

“How d’you want me?” Niall starts, then backtracks. “I mean, what’re we doing?” 

“I was going to ask you to blow me,” Zayn says softly. 

Niall’s vision goes fuzzy, remembering the velvet of Zayn’s tongue and his hand at the base and another on Niall’s hip and— the flashback subsides. 

“No, c’mon, Zayn. You can’t tell me that we’ve just been getting off and we’re just mates all the same,” Niall says. 

He traces the thick swallow that makes Zayn’s Adam’s apple dip, chewing his lip until Zayn says, “I like fucking about with you.” 

“Same,” Niall agrees. 

That’s— That’s when _it_ happens, when Niall feels this thing they’ve got going cave in, and he feels so incredibly stupid for not seeing it before. 

“I think I like _you_ ,” Zayn admits, like an afterthought. 

Niall’s heart quickens and gets stuck in his throat, dropping back harshly into his gut and tugging tendons on its way down, body tightening. It’s like one of those floppy dolls that stand stiff when the button isn’t pressed, and Zayn’s just released it. 

“You can’t— _Zayn_ ,” Niall groans in the pillow. He pushes his cheek into the fabric, frowning at his best friend in the whole world. “You let me think that this was casual wristies and shit, and now you like me?” 

He shouldn’t be reacting like this – there are worse things than dating Zayn. Dating Zayn could be incredible. Still, he gets off the bed and starts putting his shoes on, just because he needs something to _do_. He’s panicking, he knows. 

“I can still wank you off,” Zayn offers. He blinks sleepily, always calm, so bloody _Zayn_ that it just makes Niall feel worse. 

“No, thank you,” Niall says, and wants to smack himself. He sounds like he’s rejecting a snack or a flyer from someone on the street, rather than a hand job. He pushes his heel firmly into his shoe, twisting his knee slightly to get comfy. Once they’re on, he stills, having nothing to do with his limbs or his gaze. He feels heavy with a twisted mix of confusion and curiosity, and he doesn’t know what he wants, only that there are things that he _doesn’t_. 

He doesn’t want it to end like this. He doesn’t want to walk away. Being boyfriends… Maybe it could work. Maybe that’s not even what Zayn wants. Maybe Niall’s reading this all wrong. His head hurts. 

Zayn watches with soft, sad eyes, the loss drawn clearly on his features. 

“Please don’t go,” he murmurs, at the same time as Niall says, “What if I like you, too?” 

“What?” Zayn says after a weighty pause. 

“What changes then?” Niall asks boldly. “Are we still like this? Do we get to be… matey with each other?” 

“Like, watch films and go skateboarding?” Niall nods. “Yeah, like, why not?” Zayn’s eyes boast the kind of hope that can’t be ignored, the kind that says that things are looking up, the kind that _promises_. 

“Because… fucking _dating_ , Zayn,” Niall snorts, dropping to the bed and rolling his eyes. “That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it? And that’s… That’s a _thing_ , isn’t it? A massive big _thing_.” 

“Yeah, but like, we can make it work, can’t we?” Zayn shifts closer tentatively, like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to be, or where they’re allowed to touch. The soft press on his shoulder is enough to keep Niall calm. 

“I think so,” Niall says. 

“We don’t have to change or anything,” Zayn adds, finding his ground on the mattress where he can stretch his arm behind Niall’s back. “Playstation, bike riding, and snogging. Like, to me, that doesn’t sound too difficult.” 

“No,” Niall agrees, “it doesn’t, does it?” 

But even now when Zayn stains Niall’s cheeks pink with his gaze and nudges in for a little kiss, everything feels different. This _means_ something, makes sense in that odd sort of way, and maybe that’s alright. Maybe Niall doesn’t need to try so hard to understand whatever it is that they’re doing. 

Maybe he just needs to let it happen. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Zayn offers softly. 

“Okay,” Niall murmurs, remembering that Zayn wanted to be sucked off. He doesn’t think he could handle that right now. 

Zayn’s lips are plush and easy to move with, mouth warm and gentle. Niall finds himself trying to toe off his shoes but they’re too tight, so eventually he pulls away with a lopsided grin, and Zayn’s smiling, too. Even though it’s different, it’s simple, so ridiculously easy that Niall can’t believe they didn’t do this before. 

The change in dynamic has Niall on top, legs open, grinding down on Zayn’s dick. It’d been something he’d wanted to try, but that seemed like a long shot, more work than necessary just for an orgasm. They’re not just going for a quickie this time, though. Zayn is petting his sides and feeling his arse, hips twitching and stomach tightening up. 

Zayn turns them over, lets himself in between Niall’s thighs again and starts mouthing on Niall’s neck. Niall isn’t sure if it’s the position or what, but now he’s wondering if this is how it’d be to get fucked. That’s something he’s been curious about since he overheard a friend of Greg’s saying it feels amazing, never something he’d actually felt motivation to _try_ , but Zayn’s rocking against him just right for him to entertain such thoughts. 

Niall doesn’t blow Zayn – they just get each other off with their hands, Zayn up on his knees and Niall lying down. He’ll do it next time, he promises himself. More importantly, Zayn presses in against him after they’ve wiped the come off, kissing Niall’s neck and his ear just to watch him smirk and grin. 

They’ve changed again, shaken things up, but this feels _right_. Niall thinks that that’s probably all that matters. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Riptide_ by Vance Joy.
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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